


Sniffle

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Human Derek Hale, M/M, One Shot, Sick Derek Hale, Temporarily Human Derek, kind of?, they are living together so yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:48:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3130103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Open your mouth and lift your tongue up.” Stiles instructs in a soft voice. He’s holding something that Derek doesn’t entirely recognize at first. </p><p>Derek wants to make a joke but he decides against it and does as Stiles says. He feels the cold metal of a thermometer’s tip press against the underside of his tongue and he lets out a complained noise. </p><p>He tries to glare at Stiles for laughing at him. </p><p>“I would tell you don’t be a sourwolf but I think you get a pass since you’ve never had the flu before.”</p><p>“The flu?” Derek questions around the thermometer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sniffle

**Author's Note:**

> *not beta-d so sorry for any errors found*

There is a hand on his forehead. Derek forces his eyes open and sees Stiles sitting up in bed, leaning over him, still wearing pajamas. His face has an expression that mixes concern and curiosity in a way only Stiles can.

“Whad ‘re you doin’?” He asks, voice and vision still rough from sleeping for nearly… nineteen hours? It was a rough estimate. He can’t tell if the clock on his bedside table says eight o’clock or nine. 

He also isn’t entirely sure when he had passed out or whether it happened during or after the pack’s fight with those rogue omegas. He had his powers stolen by a curse from a witch (with questionable mental stability) less than a week ago, cut him some slack.

Stiles ignores Derek’s question. Or maybe he didn’t hear him? 

“Whad are you doing?” He tries again and it hurts. Suddenly, everything hurts. His throat, his head, his nose, his _stomach_. Everything. He thinks about sitting up but his body doesn’t comply. 

Derek has never felt this crummy. And he was impaled once. Derek hates magic.

When he can’t sit up he settles for swatting at Stiles’ hand still touching his face.

“You’re flushed.” Stiles explains calmly before replacing his hand on Derek’s forehead. Derek can’t get the words out but the younger man’s cool hand stretched over his skin feels like a godsend. “You’re burning up, Der.” 

“Dold you… wolves run hodder than humans…” He’s struggling to keep his eyes open, let alone focus on his boyfriend. He knows he sounds absurd but he’s unable to find it inside himself to care. 

“Believe me, I know.” Stiles gives half of a smirk before grabbing something off of the bedside table. “But even if you were a werewolf right now, this isn’t your usual temperature. When I say you’re burning up, I mean it.” This statement paired with Stiles pulling the comforter farther up Derek’s torso only serves to confuse him. 

“Open your mouth and lift your tongue up.” Stiles instructs in a soft voice. He’s holding something that Derek doesn’t entirely recognize at first. 

Derek wants to make a joke but he decides against it and does as Stiles says. He feels the cold metal of a thermometer’s tip press against the underside of his tongue and he lets out a complained noise. 

He tries to glare at Stiles for laughing at him. 

“I would tell you don’t be a sourwolf but I think you get a pass since you’ve never had the flu before.”

“The flu?” Derek questions around the thermometer.

Stiles nods, he’s off of the bed now and gathering all the pillows from his side - excluding his special one he’s had since he was a child - being surprisingly gentle when he props Derek up to place them on top of his one. 

Derek sighs as he settles back down on the pillows, cool to the touch from not being used for an hour or two. The cold feels wonderful on his head but makes the rest of his body curl up tighter into the thick blankets covering him. 

“I think you got it from that, uh, incident at the grocery store you told me about.” Derek’s headache sharpens at the memory of some little girl recognizing him as her teacher’s boyfriend and pulling her mother over to say hello, just in time for the toddler in the woman’s arms to sneeze all over Derek’s face. Stiles had thought it was hilarious when Ruby, the little girl, had told him in class and even funnier when he wrangled a retelling out of Derek. “Ruby was just telling me yesterday how her little brother had gotten sick.” Stiles explains.

“Waid…” Derek tries to think. “Id’s Thursday… y-you should be ad work.” 

Stiles gives him a warm smile. “I called in sick. Oh, and i may or may not have used your moaning in the background to sell it. Which totally worked! So I am not going anywhere until you are back on your feet.” 

Derek wants to be back on his feet now. He wants his powers and super-healing back. But Deaton had surmised that the curse would last up to a month, less if the pack could find the witch but that seems to be a dead end.

“Bud won’d you ged sick, doo?” Derek doesn’t want to end up with both him and Stiles miserable. 

“Don’t worry, unlike some, I have all my shots.” Stiles winks. Derek rolls his eyes.

The thermometer beeps and Stiles takes it from Derek, the number displayed causing him frown. “You’ve got a 101 fever.”

“Whad do I do?” He looks up at Stiles, really starting to hate how his stuffed up nose is making him sound.

“You? You do absolutely nothing! I love you sourwolf, you know that, but you should see yourself.” Stiles rakes a hand through his boyfriend’s hair with a smile. “You’re pale and sweaty, your eyes are glassy and frankly I’m surprised you haven’t hurled yet given the expressions you’ve been making. Speaking of…”

Stiles disappears into their bathroom, reemerging with a waste basket lined with a plastic bag. “If you think you’re gonna vomit, _please_ don’t miss.” he placed the trash can on the floor in line with Derek. 

“So ‘m jus’supposed do lie here?” Derek asks - he did not whine - incredulously. 

“You bet your ass you are!” Stiles says immediately. “You need to stay right here - and don’t give me that look, as if you could get up if you wanted to - you are going to rest, drink lots of fluids and try to eat as much as you can. I’ll be right back.” 

It takes a few minutes and what sounded like something falling out of the pantry, but Stiles returns with three bottles, all labeled ‘Sicko’ in Stiles’ trademark squished handwriting in sharpie, and a sleeve of crackers. “And you tell me if you need anything else. Now is not the time to pull your humble hero crap and suffer through this, okay?”

“I don’ pull any humble hero crap.” He tries to argue with Stiles, it’s the only thing he could think of to bring some semblance of his normal behavior in spite of how he felt.

“Just like you’re totally fit to get out of bed and go on your daily run?” Stiles crosses his arms.

“I could ged up if you’d led me…” 

“Okay tough guy, let’s see it. Prove me wrong.” Stiles takes a step back from the bed, waving his arms dramatically for Derek to do as he said.

Derek glares at his boyfriend. He bites back the aching he feels in his temples and his back and flips the comforter off of himself. He’s feeling a rush of heat from really moving for the first time all day. He sits up completely and slowly swings his legs off of the bed and set his feet on the floor. He’s careful to not get up up too quickly or too slowly. He stands and gives Stiles a familiar look he uses when he wins one of their (senseless) arguments. With a great deal of concentration he ambles to the bedroom door.

He makes it to the living room couch before there are black and white spots in his vision. He shuts his eyes and grabs the arm of the couch tight enough to turn his knuckles white. 

It is likely only a few seconds pass but it feels like hours to Derek before Stiles has a soothing hand on his back, leading him to sit down on the couch. 

“Okay, you were right. Happy?” Stiles’ voice is light and Derek is sure that he is smiling but he can’t focus on much. “You can get up on your own. And you will always be a thick-skulled, stubborn idiot. Regardless of your situation.” He adds fondly.

“Here.” Stiles says softly before Derek feels something press against his chest, he opens his eyes and sees that it is another waste basket lined with a plastic bag. On instinct, Derek takes a hold of the trash can as the bile rises in his throat. 

Stiles is gentle and supportive as he leads Derek back to the bedroom. Once he is back amongst the pillows and blankets he reaches for one of the water bottles. 

Stiles takes it for him to open but easily hands it over, knowing the last thing Derek would want is to be babied. 

“How does a movie sound?” The younger man asks.

Derek just nods and mutters something that is supposed to be the words. “You can choose.” He sits back a bit, watches as Stiles tries to decide among the three original Star Wars films, and eats a cracker or two to settle his stomach. 

The trademark theme music sounds out through the quiet bedroom as Stiles crawls back into his spot on the bed. He slowly tangles his legs with Derek’s, since the older does his best to squirm away whenever Stiles gets too close to his hands of face, making Stiles chuckle. 

Stiles places a surprise kiss on Derek’s cheek before Derek can stop him. “I love you, sicko.” He mumbles before looking back to the screen. 

Derek smiles. “I love you, doo.” He whispers and he drifts back to sleep as he tries to figure out which exactly episode Stiles chose.


End file.
